Doing It for Love (All About Love #1)

  I wonder if he feels the same way about meeting my family.

  Somewhere between worry and talking myself out of it, I find my mind drifting off, hanging out in the between-sleep. The lock clicks. Landon’s work scent filters into my nose. Shoes slide off. Keys jangle. I don’t know how, but I hear a smile. I feel strong arms under my thighs, on my back, lifting my body as if I’m weightless. My hands find broad shoulders. My cheek rests against a damp-with-sweat shirt. Cool sheets meet my skin moments later.

  Rough hands undress me, taking extra caution not to skate over any off-limits areas. My body is so relaxed I can’t find it in me to help him, but he sits me up, slips a giant T-shirt over my head, and settles me back into the pillows. A press of sweet, warm lips to mine follows, and I want to kiss back, but I’m on a sleep-delay, not able to respond fast enough.

  “Good night, Tumbles,” he says, brushing my hair back. I think I drift off again, because when I feel Landon against me in the bed he smells freshly showered and his hair is wet. His arms wrap me up tight, and he holds me close to his chest. The thump thump thump of his heart sounds faster than normal, waking me from the in-and-out sleep.

  “Are you okay?” I mumble.

  “I missed you.”

  “I missed you too.”

  “Just a couple more months of this, I promise.”

  I nod, not wanting to say it’ll be like this again when he goes into hard-core edits. It’s nice being held, and it’s too late to tease him.

  He takes a deep breath. “Can I take you away next weekend?”

  “Where?” I ask, intrigued, but still too tired to respond in anything but a groggy voice.

  “Philly.”

  My eyes flutter open. I gaze up at him in the dark, the hard lines of his mouth, the worry wrinkles in his forehead. I smooth them out with my fingers and press a kiss to the corner of his lips.

  “I don’t know if we can afford the drive.”

  “I know. But I’ll work extra. And I won’t spend money.” He pushes my hair back. “Please? It’s…important.”

  My heart’s thumping hard now. I know it’s important. I know it has to happen. Alec’s even warned me about who I’ll be meeting.

  So I snake my arm around his torso and squeeze.

  “Okay.”

  Chapter 9

  SEPTEMBER

  Something is dying in my stomach. I get major butterflies when I’m nervous, but these butterflies are possessed. Devil butterflies. And they’re beating their iron wings against my innards so hard I have to clutch my gut and beg Landon to pull over again.

  “What did you eat?” he jokes as I bolt out of the car. I haven’t eaten anything—can’t imagine what my stomach would feel like if I had.

  Breathe in, breathe out. Oh, sweet cherry pie, I may hurl. Cars whiz past behind me as I latch onto my knees and prepare to throw ladylike out the window.

  This is just like that time on the Rock-O-Plane at thirteen with Justin Prescott, the only preteen who didn’t have an awkward phase. His pinky touched mine and we rocked, and from then on I was known as “Blue Slurpee” as it went flying from my stomach.

  Somewhere behind me I hear the car door. Landon’s gonna touch me, and I don’t want him to. Blue Slurpee needs to puke in peace. But his hand hits my upper back even after I wave at him not to step another foot closer.

  “Do you want some water?”

  I shake my head, continuing to breathe out like I’m in labor. Landon tucks my ponytail into the back of my T-shirt, and I manage to say, “Thanks” between breaths.

  What is this nonsense? Stupid stomach. Stupid nerves. They need to back the hell off and let me be a strong, confident woman. Or at least let me fake it for the weekend.

  “You okay, Tumbles? You’re all sweaty.”

  Eww, he’s right. Maybe I do need that water.

  “Hang tight,” Landon says, and clearly my thoughts have run out of my mouth again. I wipe my brow with a shaky hand and curse at the ground like it’s at fault for my inability to handle pressure.

  Landon hands me a Dasani and I take small sips. The September wind picks up and that helps the sweats. After a minute I think the devil butterflies have been exorcised.

  “Do we need to head back?” he asks, adjusting his faded blue Miller cap. “If you’re sick we can reschedule, no problem.”

  “I’m fine.” I take another swig of water. “Not sick, just…”

  A cocky smile pops up on his mouth. “Aww, Lizzie. You’re nervous.”

  “I am not.”

  “There go your pants again.” He pulls me into a hug, which I don’t return. “Will it help if I say I know they’ll love you?”

  “Of course they will. I’m awesome,” I grumble into his T-shirt, but really, what if they don’t? What if this weekend is a living hell? What if they think it’s all a big joke that Landon brought home this twenty-two-year-old posing as a fiancée just to piss them off, and damn it those iron-winged butterflies just reincarnated and want to explode out my belly button.

  Landon rubs a soothing hand up and down my back. “You know what helps with nerves?”

  “Alcohol.”

  “Sex.”

  “Are you giving in?”

  “No.”

  “Sounds like you are.”

  “Please. I don’t even know how long it’s been.”

  Three very long weeks. “Me neither.”

  “I am seriously concerned about your pants. We should get you fire-resistant ones.”

  I shake my head, burying it farther into his chest. “Can we stop somewhere? I haven’t eaten.”

  “Well, that’s why you’re sick!”

  He pulls me back to the car, and I try not to think about spending money while we drive to the next rest stop. I’ve got too much stress on my plate as it is, and when Landon’s hand squeezes my thigh twice before staying there to rest, I have to ignore the throb in my lady regions screaming at me that “Yeah, girl. Sex would seriously help right now!”

  Damn him.

  —

  “This is it.”

  Landon turns the ignition off in front of a nice house in the middle of a noisy neighborhood. Kids are playing basketball down the street, a dog barks at a beefy man jogging past a fence, and there’s an old lady with a cat on her porch, a cat in her lap, and a cat on the patio table next to her. She yells at that “damn dog” to “quiet its trap,” and I crack a smile.

  “You have a cat lady in your neighborhood.” I look at Landon. “A for real cat lady.”

  “Uh…that’s my mom.”

  I feel all the color drain from my face. Before I can apologize, Landon laughs and I smack him.

  “Don’t tease me like that. I’m nervous enough.”

  “Don’t be nervous,” he says. But when he turns to the house we parked in front of, he tugs on his hat, hard jawline tensing as he grinds his teeth. I run a hand up and down his thigh, trying to suppress the urge to call him a hypocrite.

  He looks down at my hand, jaw relaxing when he strokes his thumb across the diamond.

  “They don’t know yet.”

  “You want me to hide it?”

  His hand stops me from sliding the ring off. “No. I’m just warning you, she’s going to ask if you’re pregnant.”

  “Been there.”

  “And when we tell her you aren’t, she’ll ask if we’re crazy.”

  “We’re crazy in love.” I make a kissy face at him, and he rolls his eyes. I roll mine right back. “Okay, I’ll try not to embarrass you.”

  “I’m not worried about you.”

  “Tell that to your face.”

  “I’m worried about them.”

  “You really are calming my nerves. You should be a therapist.”

  He squeezes just above my knee, making me jerk in my seat. With no more thoughts of encouragement on either of our parts, we get out of the car, start up the walk, and Landon rings the doorbell. I hear the death march, and I chicken out and swivel the diamond a
round so it just looks like a plain white band on my finger.

  “Who is it?!” someone shouts from inside. Landon doesn’t answer, just tests the door, and when it’s unlocked, he swings it open.

  “Ma?”

  I bite my smile back. He calls her “Ma.”

  “Landon? Oh!”

  We hear a crash from past the stairwell, a muffled “Damn it,” and then the future grandmother of my children appears.

  Now, I’ve always considered myself short. I’m five foot five and Landon towers over me, but he obviously didn’t get that gene from his mom. She has to be shorter than I am by a couple of inches. Her dark hair is pretty thin, but it’s pulled up in a high ponytail that makes her look younger than she is. And I’m not familiar with her smiles yet, but it looks like she’s giving me one of Landon’s fakers. Oy, not so awesome.

  “Is this Libby?”

  “It’s Lizzie,” Landon says.

  “Hi. Nice to meet you,” I say, sticking my hand out. She looks me up and down, then grabs the tips of my fingers. I feel like I’m shaking a dead fish.

  “You’re early,” she says to Landon.

  “Nice to see you, too, Mom.”

  “Oh, stop that. I was just saying I’m not dressed to meet your…friend here.”

  “Girlfriend. And you look fine.”

  I feel awkward, so I just nod like a bobblehead. Mrs. Wangford raises an eyebrow, and I should probably stop nodding, but it takes a long while for my head to listen.

  “Elle is grabbing dinner. Hope you’re okay with Thai.”

  She looks right at me.

  I should probably say something.

  “Sounds dummy.” Holy shitballs. What was I going for there? Delicious or yummy? “I mean, yes, I’m okay with it.” Fumble, fumble, fumble. I feel Landon shaking with laughter next to me, so I hip-check him.

  Mrs. Wangford’s gaze flicks between the two of us, the corners of her mouth tight. “I would’ve made something, but Landon always complains about my cooking.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Bullshit. I remember the stuffed mushrooms.”

  “I hate mushrooms.”

  “No, you love them. It’s your dad who hates them.”

  Landon rolls his eyes to me, and I force back a laugh. Landon would rather eat gum on the side of the road than stick a mushroom in his mouth. But no way am I going to argue over this with his mom…whom I just met…and it’s not really a good reason to fight.

  Mrs. Wangford laughs and waves a hand in Landon’s direction. “Show Libby around while I get the table set.”

  “It’s Liz,” Landon says.

  “That’s what I said.”

  He opens his mouth, but shuts it and shakes his head. He puts a hand on the small of my back and guides me down a hallway and toward the backyard. We pass a room where a giant dog is going to town on a pillow. I suppress my laughter yet again, stopping in the hall and pointing a questioning finger in the dog’s direction.

  “Buster,” Landon says.

  “…is horny,” I joke. “What kind of dog is he?”

  “Pit-Lab mix.”

  “Gotta be seventy pounds or more.”

  “Hundred pounds, actually. Most of his bulk is covered by that poor pillow right now.”

  I finally let out that laugh, and then hear a fake cough behind us. I look over my shoulder at my future mother-in-law, who has decided to fix the picture on the wall I was standing next to while muttering under her breath. Maybe she’s frosty to everyone. She didn’t even hug her son, and he hasn’t been home in over a year.

  “Is it warmer out here than it is in there, or is it just me?” Landon jokes when we step outside. It’s pretty chilly, so I take his hand and pump it twice. He squeezes once.

  The back of the house faces west, so the sunset casts a nice orangey glow across a wooden-fenced yard. There’s a massive garden along the right side, pumpkins and squash overflowing. Looks like someone has a green thumb. I can’t even take care of bamboo, and that stuff is supposed to last forever.

  “My dad’s.” Landon nods to the garden. “He’s good, huh? If I had the patience for it…and a yard, I’d probably want to do that, too.”

  “Garden?” That’s a surprise. “What would you plant?”

  His arms circle my waist, and I rest against his chest. His heart is pounding, but slows into a gentle rhythm.

  “Corn. I’d grow enough to make a maze.”

  “And shoot a horror movie in it.”

  “Not a bad idea.”

  “What’s that over there?”

  “Tree house.”

  “Is it stable?”

  “It was when I was twelve.”

  “Did you ever make out with anyone in there?”

  “I didn’t have that much game.”

  I turn around and give him a wicked smile. “Your tree house has not seen any action.” I pull on his arm. “Let’s go take its virginity.”

  He lets me drag him across the yard, and I internally happy dance. Maybe we can hide out in the tree all weekend.

  “Be careful on the ladder,” he says when I step up on the wood plank nailed to the giant trunk.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “The boards are a bit loose.”

  “Maybe a little, but nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Put your foot closer to the middle there.”

  “Ouch! Oh shit!”

  “You okay?”

  “The boards are loose.”

  “I told you.”

  “I almost died!”

  He laughs and sets his hands just under my butt and pushes. My upper body flings across the dusty floor of the tree house. Doing a not-so-hot shimmy, I wiggle inside and turn around so I can help Landon.

  He’s okay on the first step. Okay on the second. Wobbles on the third and curses on the fourth while reaching for my hand. I’m belly laughing so hard I can barely help pull him up, but he eventually rolls in next to me, breathless and smiling. I rest my head on his pounding heart and wipe dirt from his shirt.

  “I feel old now,” I say.

  “You are over two decades.”

  “You’re over two and a half.”

  “Cougar chaser.”

  “Cradle robber.”

  He laces his fingers with mine, and we go silent but for our breathing. I know I promised him a make-out, but lying here in the creaky tree house listening to the soft thuds of his heart is too blissful to make me want to move.

  “Alec hung that poster, by the way,” Landon says after a moment. I grin at the faded and cracked Emma Watson picture. Underneath, carved in the tree bark, it says 10 POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR.

  “Don’t lie,” I tease. “I’ve seen you watch those movies with far too much enthusiasm.”

  “I enjoy the cinematography.”

  I snort and roll on top of him. His eyes look sad, so I pepper kisses across his face.

  After a ridiculous number of pecks, he cracks a smile and catches my cheeks. He pulls my forehead against his and his hands tangle in my hair, creating goose bumps up and down my neck. His eyes close and mine follow, sinking us into our quiet world again. It’s so amazingly perfect here. His breath, his warmth, the scruff on his chin, the faded words on his T-shirt and baseball cap.

  I could live like this forever.

  “So could I,” he whispers. I smile and slide down his body to rest my head back on his chest. It feels new again. Somewhere different. And things start to stir up in my loins. I wonder if he’s sporting wood.

  I reach down, and realize almost too late that I’m not supposed to touch, so I just sort of awkwardly hover over his zipper.

  He raises an eyebrow, then his smile widens into that competitive grin, and I move my hand to shove his face away.

  “Landon?” a male voice calls from the yard. Landon shifts underneath me and pokes his head out the wide opening of the tree house.

  “Hey, Pop.” He calls his parents Ma and Pop, and I’m smiling again. “Give me a
second.”

  I lean up off Landon, and the devil butterflies wake up. Okay, future father-in-law is up next, and I’m hoping that Hurdle is a lot shorter than the mother-in-law one. I quickly do a swipe under my eyes in case there are any mascara goobers and then adjust my shirt. Landon takes my hand, subduing the possessed stomach for the moment.

  “Now, be careful,” he says with a wink. “The boards are loose.”

  I punch his shoulder, and I don’t even feel bad about it.

  Chapter 10

  The Wangfords’ dinner table is small. We’re all squished in, Landon’s shoulder smashed with mine, his giant of a father on one end, elbowing the wall every time he picks up his wineglass. Mrs. Wangford is at the other end, tiny and looking comfortable physically, but emotionally she keeps looking at my left hand like I’m about to pull a gun on her. The only one—besides Buster—that looks completely at ease is Elle, Landon’s sister, who is on her second helping of Pad Thai.

  “Did he ever tell you about his last night here before he moved?” Elle says through a mouthful, gesturing at Landon. “He blew up the garbage can, and we found him naked in Dad’s garden the next morning.”

  I laugh around my glass, and Landon points his fork at his sister. “That’s an exaggeration. I was in my boxers.”

  “You were so commando.”

  Landon huffs, shakes his head, then makes his mouth very busy. I take another sip of wine. It stings my throat a little, but it’s something to do. I don’t want to scarf down my food before anyone else.

  “So,” his mom says, eyes burning into my hand. “Are you pregnant?”

  Mr. Wangford chokes on his food and Elle gives him one hard smack on the back.

  “Julie—”

  “What? We’re all thinking it.” Mrs. Wangford looks back at me. “Is that what this is all about?” She points directly at my hand, and I feel like I should hide it, but I keep it firmly planted in sight.